


Patience

by parttimehuman



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, semi-public almost-sex, the secretive brushing of fingertips against inner thighs in public spaces
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parttimehuman/pseuds/parttimehuman
Summary: Imagine this: There's a beautiful stranger taking the same bus as you every night. You didn't mean to fall for him, but you couldn't help it. The two of you have gone from stolen glances to shy smiles to shamelessly undressing each other with your looks across the bus. You find a pair of temptingly short shorts that you think might make him want more from you than just looks.Would you wear them?
Relationships: Nolan/Brett Talbot
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	Patience

Brett doesn't think he's ever worn anything this short. With his backpack slung over one shoulder and a pair of headphones in his nervously fidgeting hands, he's standing at the bus stop. It's the same as always: He got out of work at the usual time, is waiting for the same bus he takes home every single night, but still, something is different this time. He didn't think he'd ever work up the courage, but he has. Tonight is the night, Brett tells himself and takes a deep breath as the bus rounds the corner.

He doesn't have to look, but he does it either way. He doesn't have to, because he knows exactly which seat the guy is sitting in. Another thing that's the same as always. Brett can't be entirely sure how long they've been taking the same bus at night, but ever since he first noticed him, his eyes keep going back to the stranger, and there's not a damn thing he can do about it, so he doubts that there was a very long time before the guy snatched Brett’s attention.

On public transportation and tired from work isn't exactly how he imagined falling for someone, but there he was one day, the most beautiful man he'd ever seen, blond hair framing a freckled face, blue eyes looking at Brett for just a second before a row of white teeth dug into an already chapped lip and the gaze was averted. Then, the guy was wearing black skinny jeans and a brown leather jacket, now, it's a soft-looking red hoodie and a smirk.

If you think that Brett has spent the previous couple of weeks merely staring at a stranger on the bus, dreaming about the day he would finally walk up to him and simply ask him out, but never actually doing anything about the warm, fuzzy feelings inside him, you're not entirely right.

They've been working up to this, _ this _ being the shorts that Brett had wanted to get rid of because they had been bought for his teenage self and gotten too short and tight in the meantime. Last night, he fished them out of a box and tried them on in front of a mirror, blushing a little at the sight of himself. If the bus wasn't usually so empty around the time he gets off, he would have never dared to wear them. When he went to bed, he still wasn't sure whether or not he was going to, but in the morning, he wanted to take the next step.

They've gone from stealing glances, looking away quickly each time they were caught, to one second long eye contact, to shy smiles, to locking eyes every now and then until they both smiled so hard they had to gather themselves. A real meet cute it was at first, innocent and sweet, but it turned into something a little less innocent soon after, and suddenly they were looking each other up and down every chance they got, trading dirty smiles and winks. The stranger that doesn't feel like a stranger anymore likes licking his lips, forcing Brett's eyes to follow the tip of his tongue as it moves, making him wonder what he might taste like.

It's become a game they play. When Brett gets on the bus, the other guy is in his usual seat, forming a silent hello with his lips, and in return, Brett brushes his knuckles with his fingertips as he walks by to find a seat not too far off. They've tested each other, figuring out what the other reacts to. Brett has to suppress a moan every time the other guy turns his head to look out of the window, except he doesn't just turn his head, he deliberately exposes as much of his long, pale neck as he possibly can. And then, when Brett is already thinking about sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin, he smoothes a hand through his hair and lets his fingers trail down along the side of his face, his sharp, sometimes stubbly jaw, the neck, exposing a bit of collarbone when his hand catches at his shirt.

It would be unfair if Brett didn't happen to know a few things he can do to return the favor. Something definitely happened the day he wore a white shirt just to slowly roll up his sleeves as soon as he'd taken his seat and then flex the muscles in his arms a little. Every single time he doesn't shave for a couple of days, it's to watch blue eyes tracing his jaw. And of course, every time he stretches his arms and his shirt rides up totally by accident, the same eyes drop to the sliver of skin and light trail of hair showing.

By now, Brett has a whole list of things to go through before the other guy gets off the bus and leaves him wanting, and he's looking to add many more, but it's also nice to have it confirmed already how well some of his tricks work. And maybe his favorite one out of all those tricks is showing off his legs.

It wasn't on purpose, at least not the first time. It was simply too hot outside to wear long pants. He didn't think anything of it as he got onto the bus in a pair of shorts. Years of lacrosse practice and late nights at the gym have shaped Brett's body into something most people find attractive, lean but firm and strong. It's not like he didn't think his calves were nice to look at, but the reaction they caused that day was still unexpected.

Brett more than loves knowing a definite weakness of this guy, he more than loves the looks he's been getting, so why not push it a little further? Why not try and see how far he has to go until something happens? The game is fun, but rather sooner than later, he wants his prize.

And this is how he’s gotten where he is now, getting on the nearly empty bus wearing the absolute minimum of fabric on the lower half of his body that he would still dare to leave the house in. Putting the shorts on after clocking out and walking to the bus stop in them was making him a little nervous already, but as he moves through the central gangway of the bus, he  _ knows _ whose eyes are on him, scanning every inch of skin. It makes putting one foot in front of the other harder than it has any right to.

Brett didn’t want to look. He wanted to keep a straight face, eyes focused on the back of the bus, wanted to look cool and casual. Of course, he can’t. He’s almost where a beautiful man in a red hoodie sits, and he fails to walk past him without so much as a tiny look. Just for one second, he wants to see- 

_ Fuck. _ Clearly, Brett’s outfit is doing everything he wanted it to, maybe a little more. He’s looking at flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips, but it’s the wide eyes and the dark shimmer in them that kill him. Slowly, as if it’s incredibly difficult, the eyes tear themselves away from his legs and move up until they’re looking right at his face. 

Brett stops. Neither of them bothers averting their eyes now, they’re beyond that. Brett raises one eyebrow in a silent question.  _ Do you want me to keep walking or is this when something finally happens?  _

The seconds seem to stretch and turn into eternities. Not a word is spoken. The stranger could move to the window seat, make a little room for Brett, but he seems frozen. 

Nothing happens, and the realization feels like ice water dumped down the back of his shirt and running along his spine. The stranger never wanted him to take the next step. Just because they've been making eyes at each other, doesn't mean it has to lead anywhere. Just because Brett wants it to, doesn't mean the feeling is mutual.

Brett bites his lip, taking his eyes off of the dream that's not supposed to become reality. He's going to find a seat in the very back of the bus, and once he's home, he's going to burn the damn shorts he shouldn't even have kept for so long, and in the future, he'll take some other form of transportation home from work. Never again will he fall for someone, especially not a beautiful stranger on a bus. He's been stupid.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

He walks ahead.

He walks by.

Goodbye, stranger.

See you never.

And then he's pulled back so hard by the wrist that he's forced to whirl around, almost knocking out a lady with his swinging backpack. Before his brain can catch up with what's happening, Brett finds himself in the seat next to his favorite pretty face on the bus. All he can think about is how they're pressed up against each other at the hips and shoulders. Nothing has ever felt so good.

Maybe, Brett isn't stupid after all. He lowers his backpack to the ground between his feet, knee connecting with another knee, neither of them pulling away. As he leans back, he makes sure to be as close as physically possible.

In a way, sitting next to each other and therefore, not being able to look each other directly in the eyes anymore makes it easier. It gives Brett the confidence to put his hand palm up on his thigh and it makes the other guy take it, but not with the hand that's closer to Brett. Their fingers interlace automatically, Brett's hand is pulled in the lap next to him and for a moment, he genuinely believes it the most exciting thing that's ever happened to him.

Until the tip of a finger brushes his bare thigh and it dawns on him what the stranger needed his free hand for. The finger stills, giving Brett the chance to pull away, which he doesn't dream of doing. Instead, he nudges the guy with his knee, silently asking for more touch. There's a small, amused sounding exhale and then another feather-light brush.  _ Not stupid at all, _ Brett thinks,  _ not in the slightest. _

Brett is pretty sure that, if he could see himself, he would be at least a little bit embarrassed of the way he’s sitting there, his bare legs spread farther than they usually would be. He’s got his hand in a boy’s lap that he doesn’t even know the name of, and said boy is trailing his fingers along the soft inside of Brett’s thigh, up and up and up until there isn’t much more exposed skin left to touch. Brett looks down and realizes that, if he gets hard now, the outfit he’s chosen will do nothing to hide it. Theoretically, anyone getting on or off the bus could see him melting into the beautiful stranger’s touch and enjoying it. Maybe he would mind it if it didn’t feel so wonderful, but the hand between his legs happens to be the only thing his brain has the capacity to care about right now. 

Other than Brett, who starts wriggling around in his seat soon enough, the guy next to him sits very still, keeping up a perfect pretense that he’s just another passenger riding the bus, looking straight ahead at nothing in particular. Only his wrist is moving back and forth, only his fingers seem to be restless. 

Wishing that he could be equally collected, Brett clasps the hand he’s holding tightly, trying not to think about the fact that it’s only three stops until his stranger will have to get off the bus and leave him. If this is all he gets, he’ll scream. If he has to hide a boner in tiny shorts while rushing home and a bunch of shampoo bottles remain his only company while getting himself off tonight, he’ll have to kick something until it breaks. 

The bus gives a slight jolt as it comes to another stop. Only two away now. Brett has to do something. He lifts the leg that has been pressed up against the stranger’s and despite the ridiculous length of his own limbs and the lack of space between his seat and the one in front of him, Brett manages to drape it over the stranger’s leg so that his foot is dangling between the guy’s legs and his own thighs are spread apart, open, practically offered up. 

The reward for his gymnastics comes in the form of a tight grip, nails digging into his thigh almost hard enough to hurt a little, but not quite. It’s just a squeeze before the gentle stroking continues. From the upper third of his thigh down to the knee, then back so slowly that he almost lets out a frustrated whine. Fingertips graze the edge of Brett’s shorts and then his pubic bone, which, despite the touch lasting a second at best, sends a warm shiver through his entire body. 

Again, the bus stops, the doors open and close, two girls look for seats and thankfully settle far enough away. Brett wants to cry. The bus is maybe two or three minutes away from the stranger’s usual stop. The stranger Brett wants to grab by the hair and kiss, whose lap he wants to climb onto, whose hands he never wants to stop touching him. 

But they do. Brett can squeeze his eyes shut all he wants, it doesn’t change the fact that the touch is going away, that the hands are letting him go. He shouldn’t be so sad. His bravery was not in vain. He got so much more out of this fifteen minute bus ride than ever before. And after all, there will be another one tomorrow. And another one the day after that. And maybe, eventually… 

“I don’t think I can get off this bus without you.” 

Brett doesn’t even know where to begin. Just the sound of the stranger’s voice is enough to overwhelm him completely, let alone what Brett thinks he just heard it say to him. On top of it all, they’re now looking each other directly in the eyes again, and Brett can’t hear his own thoughts over the pounding of his heart. Somehow, miraculously, he opens his mouth to speak. 

“I don’t think you should.”

For a moment, it looks like the stranger is surprised by this, but the two of them don't have much time to sit around and stare at each other while figuring out what to do next. The next stop is in sight, the bus slowing down already.

"Come with me, then," the stranger says.

Brett doesn't need to be told twice. He's already grabbing his backpack, awkwardly holding it in front of his body as he gets up, waits for the doors to open and jumps out onto the sidewalk. They both stand and watch as the tail lights of the bus disappear into the dim evening.

"I'm Nolan," says the - not stranger any longer - with a smile, "and I'm finding it way harder not to touch you than I should."

"I'm Brett. And I can guarantee you that I'm finding it at least as hard not to be touched by you, maybe more."

"I doubt that," Nolan says. As if to prove it, he's got his hands in Brett's shirt half a second later, pulling him close until they're chest to chest, face to face.

They're going to kiss. Nolan is going to kiss him. He's going to kiss Nolan back. Considering how far they went sitting next to each other on the bus, the thought shouldn't make Brett as nervously excited as it does, but what can he do?

"Do you have any idea," he whispers, "how fucking long I've been wanting to do this?"

"I might," Nolan whispers back, and then their kiss is delayed because they both have to smile too hard. When their eyes meet, smiles turn into soft little laughs that take a minute to fade.

Brett wraps one arm around Nolan's waist and raises the other one to cup his cheek. Finally, they close their eyes and let their bodies do the rest. From the first brush of Nolan's lips against his own, Brett wants more. Trapped between their bodies, Nolan must be feeling exactly how hard he is. It's not surprising that sweet little kisses become open-mouthed and filthy in a matter of maybe two minutes.

Brett's head almost gets a little dizzy when Nolan pushes his tongue between Brett's lips, but thankfully he gets pushed up against a wall. For once, Brett is grateful for the parts of Beacon Hills where not a soul is on the street as soon as it dawns and buses go once an hour. It means Nolan can kiss him like he's trying to fuck Brett's mouth with his tongue and grind against him until Brett gives up on trying to be quiet.

"Nolan," Brett says, taking his face in both hands, repeating his name when it doesn't look like Nolan's attention is on his lips in the way he wants it to be. "Nolan. Nolan, you have to stop."

Nolan's hands leave Brett's body andare put flat against the wall behind him. "Do you want me to stop?" Nolan asks, breathing just as heavily as Brett is.

"I'll make a mess if you don't," Brett sighs. It's not his fault this guy has been making him so horny for such a long time that he can barely hold out now that they're together.

Nolan cocks his head and smiles. "But do you want me to stop?"

Brett bites his lip. "Not really."

Nolan nods and leans in, nuzzling against Brett's collarbone, placing a kiss there before his lips kiss their way up the side of his neck to his ear. "I have a suggestion for you, Brett," Nolan whispers, breath tickling Brett's skin. His voice is deeper now and infinitely hot. "You don't really want me to stop, and guess what? I don't want to stop either. Maybe you will make a mess. Maybe I will. Maybe we should make it a game. If you want me to, I'll take you home with me. And if you last longer than I do, at home, I'll let you do to me whatever you want to."

Brett wouldn't describe a bus stop in the half-dark as the ideal place for a make-out session with a happy end, but how can he say no to Nolan? He probably should, but then he has to make it from where they are now to Nolan's home in his current, desperately turned on state. If he gives in, he isn't very worried about it taking too long. But it's dirty, right? Then again, so is what they did on the bus earlier, and he's positive that that was the hottest thing he's experienced in his whole life.  _ Fuck. _

"Fine, I'm getting away from you," Nolan says, apparently interpreting Brett's silence as a no.

It feels like Brett is physically incapable of letting him go, though, so he grabs Nolan by the hips and pulls him close again. "Don't you dare," he murmurs before they start kissing again.

It seems like something Brett's far younger self would have done, rutting against a pretty boy out in the open although it might very well end with his release sticking his underwear to his skin on the way home. One might think he has left such behavior behind along with the blond highlights and other sins of his teenage years. Maybe he would have, if it wasn't for Nolan.

Nolan makes him feel like forgetting the rest of the world is a good idea. When he nudges Brett's legs apart and pushes one of his own between them, Brett lets it happen. He also doesn't stop Nolan from sucking hickeys into his neck or pushing his shirt up and Nolan's hands beneath it.

It doesn't take long. It doesn't leave Brett with enough time to squeeze Nolan's ass more than once or twice. He barely gets the chance to get his hands underneath the red hoodie to explore the soft, warm skin there. Nolan lets out a little moan when Brett pinches his nipple, which seems to be the moment he gets serious about ending their little game.

It's too fucking good. Nolan practically clings to him, rubbing their jeans-covered dicks together faster now and with undeniable purpose. Just as Brett is about to be hit by his orgasm, he grabs Nolan's ass and lifts him up, turning them around so that Nolan is the one with his back pressed against the wall. Brett's arms are wrapped around him, Nolan's legs are wrapped around Brett, Brett's face pressed against Nolan's neck, his hips bucking, thrusting himself up against Nolan until he comes with his teeth digging into Nolan's skin and one of Nolan's hands gripping his hair.

"Please tell me you live close," Brett says as soon as he's caught his breath enough to make comprehensible words come out of his mouth. Carefully, he sets Nolan down, who looks like he's quite interested in a bed and a door to close behind them as well with his cheeks flushed and a damp spot at the front of his bulging jeans.

"I live close," he says breathlessly, pulling his hoodie back down and picking up his bag from the sidewalk.

"Excellent," Brett replies, looking around and finally spotting his own abandoned backpack, "because I believe that, when we get there, you get to do to me whatever you want, and I'm once again finding it quite hard not to be touched by you."

"Don't worry," Nolan smiles, taking Brett's hand in his and intertwining their fingers as they start walking, "I don't think it will be an issue you need to worry about tonight."

"I'm so glad I wore these shorts today."

"I hope you're okay with me taking them off of you."

"Please," Brett says, and already he's being pulled towards the front door of a cute little house. Nolan pulls a key out of his bag and unlocks the door. Brett can't help but kiss the back of his neck as he sees it.

"Patience," Nolan says, "just a little more patience."

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think are some of the things Nolan is planning to do to Brett? 👀


End file.
